


Seven Times

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon Timeline, F/M, Pre-Canon, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had fallen in love with her no less than seven times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Times

_June 2, 1945_

The first time he fell in love with her would be one of no less than seven times.

Rain kicked up on the pavement as he made his way home to the rundown old tenement building, an unsatisfactory form of weather that irritated him with the way in which it got his clothing completely soaked in a matter of minutes. The day had started out bright and clear, only to turn into a late spring downpour once he had gotten a substantial distance from home. In light of the conditions he had abandoned his illicit efforts for the afternoon.

As he ascended the stairs to the third-floor room he shared with his cousin, thoughts shuffled to the imperatives once again. He hoped the rain was temporary. It tended to make his work more difficult and there were expenses piling up; rent, food, the occasional improvement to his wardrobe. Nothing marked a low status quite so much as being shabbily dressed.

It somewhat surprised him that his cousin had not caught on to the fact that his roommate did not earn his income in a legitimate fashion, but perhaps the man simply turned a blind eye to it. They were both lucky to have made it out of the country once most of it had been liberated; their family back home had not all been so fortunate. Doing what it took to survive was a mentality that had not receded with the German threat, and the war had taught him a resourcefulness far beyond his nineteen years.

He had been fishing in his coat pocket for his key when the sudden sound of shrieking and footfalls in the stairwell announced the arrival of children. Many of the neighbors were the families of working men, and their brats would make a nuisance of themselves in the hallways. Frowning, he had the key in the lock when a small body collided into the side of him, nearly knocking him off balance.

A second boy ran past the fallen child, who was already scrambling to his feet after him. "C'mon Tommy, watch where ya goin'! Slowpoke!"

Glaring venomously in the direction they'd run off in, he brushed at his clothing in irritation. He _hated_ children, and most of all the obnoxious ones. But then another voice appeared from the stairwell, and it was one that committed itself to his memory forever. Not soft, not melodious, but it was hers all the same.

" _John! Tommy!_ Ya say you're sorry this instant or I swear I'm gonna smack—"

The girl slowed as she approached him, smoothing down her dress that had been roughed up. She had apparently been running after her brothers, the blue umbrella in her hand being wielded suspiciously like a weapon. Seeming to notice this, she lowered it back to her side as she stopped beside him.

He was immediately put off; she was actually paying attention to him, something he had not been prepared for, and he was tempted to fall back on his usual escape out of a situation which consisted of acting like he didn't speak English very well, as was the case with most immigrants in the building. But she was already talking, and that was the equivalent of being trapped.

"Look, I'm really sorry mister." She touched his arm apologetically, her damp dark hair disheveled in her face. His pulse seemed to quicken at this. "The kids have me outnumbered, but I'll knock some sense into 'em later. On your behalf this time."

She started off down the hall, and he noticed she glanced back at him with a smile before disappearing around the corner. Immediately he suspected that she was teasing him, because she knew she had provoked his interest in her and had no intention of returning any such feeling. He wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn't bring himself to.

And as much as he knew he should have said something—anything—to her, he had accepted long ago that there were some things he was not allowed to have, and the intriguing girl would be one of them.

* * *

_July 18, 1945_

"I just—I don't know. It looked like the sort of thing you would like. But if you don't want it—"

The corner of her lips had twitched up a bit, an amused smile he had seen on her before. She obviously had to be indicating that she did like the sunhat, because she was holding the box close to her chest. "Why wouldn't I like it? Weren't ya there when we walked by the window and I said 'Gee, that's a really nice hat, I sure would like that'?"

He glanced off to the side awkwardly. Being nice to her tended to get a bit embarrassing when she was so very _loud_ about it.

Suddenly the smile vanished, her expression becoming thoughtful. "How'd you afford this? It was in that expensive shop uptown."

For a moment he hesitated. "You remember that woman with the red dress, at the restaurant?"

"Mmm. Yeah, I remember all right," she muttered back. They had helped themselves to the unattended purse of a well-to-do woman that she had shown rather open dislike for. He had been reluctant to steal from her due to the risk factors involved in a theft with many possible witnesses, but for reasons he couldn't comprehend, she had decided that it must have to do with the woman's looks. She pouted about it for the rest of the night, though they had made off with a nice amount for their troubles.

The false accusation, however, only further underlined his frustration with her for completely missing the subtle hints of attraction he tried so persistently to convey. If this gift didn't do the trick, he supposed nothing was going to.

And right on cue, her face softened as she thought about what he meant. "Oh God, Rey, don't tell me you spent your half on it. I already got mine, don't you even—"

He kept his legendary poker face, ignoring her. "So you do like it then?"

She bit her lip as she ran her fingers again over the rather fancy box. "I do. I _really_ do."

"Then that's all there is to it," he concluded, shrugging. "Discussion over."

He had thought he won that round, but then she leaned up and kissed his cheek, standing on her toes to make up the substantial difference in their heights. He guessed from the sound of her giggling that he must have looked nothing short of shocked.

* * *

_August 15, 1945_

The building had become quiet for the night when they reached the door to the apartment she shared with her family. She was saying all of the predictable things—that dinner had been lovely, he had spent way too much on her, she would find a way to get even. But then he had turned to go and been met with a loud clearing of the throat noise from her.

He turned back, noting that her arms were folded in expectation. "What?"

She frowned at his lack of comprehension. "Whaddya mean 'what'? You're supposed to kiss me, ain'tcha?"

The invitation was one he planned on accepting—but not before teasing her first. She did too much of it to not deserve it.

" _Supposed to?"_ he asked innocently. "Since when do ladies _demand_ a kiss?"

Her eyes became indignant. "Don't get smart with me. You _stole_ my first kiss last week without permission! I was supposed'ta land a good decent man, y'know, and then you come along—"

She glared more firmly at him when he started chuckling. " _Stole?_   That's not quite how I recall it happening." He knew that she was smugly aware of the fact that the first kiss in question applied to himself as well as her, his reluctant advances far from theft. Just another one of her games, and he did not intend to be bested.

"You could've at least _asked_ ," she mumbled, her gaze flitting down to the ground. "'S'not like we were datin' or anything."

"You could have at least _acted_ like you didn't want to," he smirked back. Her face had become slightly pink. "Now you're blushing, Kat, it isn't really like you to—"

He never got to finish, because she had grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips to his.

The argument seemed to continue on through the kiss. She was coming on strong, trying to get a rise out of him, but it would take more than that and she seemed to know it. So she teased her tongue at his lower lip, some shyness to it, enticing him to lose control of the situation.

And maybe that was exactly what happened, because soon he had her lips parted, exploring her with a curious passion. A soft groan escaped her, the vibration sending him over the edge. His fingers were in her hair, her body flush against his. They had reached a truce.

* * *

_January 2, 1946_

They were married under unconventional circumstances.

He already knew his career was going to lead him in a terrible direction, so the whole affair had been quiet and decidedly private. The court had approved their paperwork and united them under the law—it was as simple as that. The softly spoken promises made between the two of them was what made it a reality.

But he had saved enough to provide them with a small home, if nothing else, and their child growing inside her had provoked his instincts to protect her. They spent their nights together in peaceful bliss, cherishing what the time they had together before he embarked on yet another journey.

It would not be until after their lovemaking had come to an end that she would seize his hand, touching it gently to her stomach as she caught her breath. A reminder of something more important than them, perhaps. He traced small circles there until she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

_July 19, 1946_

That summer night in London, he found himself unable to sleep. Something that could be expected when one had been contracted to carry out the first hit of his career. It wasn't so much nerves as it was a sense of wanting to be through with it and rid himself of the miserable city.

He dragged himself out of bed and over to the opposite side of the small hotel room, reaching into his valise for the familiar hair ribbon he had smuggled from home. It was something he had taken with him in case he became homesick, a reminder of her. He breathed in the scent that covered it, her floral scent, and felt a blessed feeling of calmess settle inside of him.

Falling asleep to the comfort of that aroma was too easy to do. He wished for it to surround him, even if she could not.

* * *

_September 3, 1946_

Considering that he had remained steadfastly nearby during the expected week of arrival, he found himself rather put off by the fact that she had sent him out of the room.

"Y'know you'll just panic," she had told him softly, her hand disconcertingly limp as he held on tightly to it. "It's just somethin' that I have'ta go through myself. It'll be over soon enough and then you better be in here to see your son."

It was something he decided to take her advice on. He didn't want to consider how many bodies they would have to clean up if he did anything to the effect of panicking. But he still paced and went through two packs of cigarettes waiting, until finally the midwife had come to retrieve him, a smile on her face. How many anxious fathers she must have seen, he supposed.

Genuine smiles weren't something he often allowed himself, but then he saw his wife and firstborn waiting for him and the everlasting exception was made.

* * *

_April 5, 1968_

There were no more children to raise, but there would always be the two of them and so life went on.

He felt like a ghost now, because he had a long list of enemies these days and so he came to her under the cover of darkness. The New Mexican night was filled with the thrum of cicadas, but he had already broken it with the sound of her satisfaction. She had joked afterward that they were going to attract the coyotes one of these days.

Teasingly brushing kisses along her neck, he finally noticed the delicate golden chain around her neck. He touched it curiously.

"I don't remember this," he noted, smirking. "Did I give this to you?"

She matched his smile with a more devious one. "Oh, you got it for me last week."

She must've taken his silence for confusion, because she reached into the drawer of the nightstand and removed something. "I didn't spend it all, so I guess I oughta give the rest back."

A thick wad of bills was pressed against his chest. "Sorry, honey. Old habits, y'know?"

He had wondered where that money had gone. Simply vanished, it had seemed, and he had assumed he misremembered the amount he had been carrying. She knew he would have given her anything she wanted, but taking it had been more exciting, and that was exactly what he loved about her.

And just like that he had fallen all over again.


End file.
